


The Novice

by ducky



Series: Chronicles of Kamar-Taj [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6809053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ducky/pseuds/ducky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl Mordo has a few concerns about the novice in Kamar-Taj.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Novice

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended to be part of a series of drabbles, loosely based on what we currently know about the film, mixed with some stuff from the animated movie.

“Dodge!” Mordo growled in frustration, as his fist barely grazed Strange's cheek, dodging almost a second too late, taking a quick sidestep as his sparring partner charged at him.

 

This has been his life now, barely a month after he had made his way here, in Kamar-Taj.

“Mind your defenses!” Mordo roared as he swung his leg to lock Strange's, preventing him from moving away. Panic whirred in Strange's head for a brief flash of a second before it was replaced with pain. Mordo had used the leg lock to find an opening to toss Strange over his shoulder, the novice falling rather briskly on the floor. He wasn't a fighter. He was a doctor, and while knowledge of the human body was something he was extremely well-versed with, combat was another thing entirely. And right now, the only thing of use his former profession had was it enabled him to at least tell which of his joints were potentially dislocated.

 

The Ancient One, who had been watching their training, nods. Wong raises a sash in the air. Their lesson has ended for the day.

 

* * *

 

 

“You need to work on your defenses. You leave yourself way too vulnerable to attacks.” Mordo grumbled, walking towards the well where Strange sat, water cupped in his shaking hands as he tries to drink.

 

The water barely touches his lips when it spills on his bare chest, tired and beaten from the day's work and training. Stephen Strange sighs dejectedly, looking at the puddle on the ground.

 

“Well, I was a doctor, not a warrior.” He gruffly replied, leaning against the well, casting a brief glance at his sparring partner.

 

“That is no excuse.” Mordo curtly retorted, eyes traveling to glance at his partner's scarred hands.

 

Mordo never approved of the Ancient One's decision to train this arrogant man. One glance at this man's body: pale, frail and weak, soft and lanky, with the obvious posture of a man who lived in the lap of luxury and worldly comforts, would be enough to justify that there is absolutely no turning this man into a man of combat, a man of the mystic arts.

 

But through his tenacity and determination to cure himself, the Ancient One acquiesced. Mordo felt slightly impressed, but moreso, jealous.

 

_'There is strength to be found elsewhere, other than the physical.'_ He recalls the Ancient One telling him, one night, when he and Wong expressed their concerns over the new disciple's training. _'He may be broken, damaged, but his heart is strong-- if we can turn that to good, then what power will we find?'_

 

_A strong heart..._

 

“Mordo? Why are you staring at my chest?”

 

He snaps out of his thoughts, harrumphing in protest. He never understood the Ancient One. With a wave of his hand, he takes water from the well, hovering it towards the novice. Strange stared at it for a moment.

 

“Mordo, thanks, I---”

 

Splash. Water hit Strange's face, drenching him completely as Mordo walked away.

 

_Way too vulnerable..._

 


End file.
